


The Hot Neighbor

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>petewentz god bless @butchwalker for helping guide the way back. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hot Neighbor

**Author's Note:**

> In the first radio interview of FOB's comeback, Pete said "but we worked with our friend Butch Walker on this record, on this song in particular, and I think for the first time we looked over the neighbor's fence and we went over and we, like, fucked the hot neighbor."

They agree by e-mail, which feels so fucking weird; Pete remembers when they literally lived on top of each other. Communicating by distance, by screen, about something as important as this--well, that says everything that needs to be said right there, doesn't it?

Or maybe he's reading too much in, and they're doing it by e-mail just because they're scattered all over the country by preference. He can't second-guess himself enough, these days. If he ever could.

Patrick starts the thread: _Pete and I have some stuff pulled together. I like it. Demos attached, but I think getting together in-person and trying it out would be worth it. LA? Two weeks? You guys free?_

Joe comes back first: _Let me check my extremely crowded social calendar... I can move walking the dog to another day. I'm up for giving it a try. No guarantees. I like the third track on there, that's raw._

Andy just forwards his plane reservation. Andy's a bro.

Pete replies with: _I'll clean up the guest rooms. Or book hotels. Whichever you guys want. And I guess I've got two weeks to remember how to play._

One of them should come back with a crack about two weeks being way too excessive for the way he plays, but none of them do. That's weird, too. Instead, Joe and Andy both say they'll stay with him so Patrick and Elisa can keep being newlyweds, and that's... it.

**

Playing together is like bad karaoke and it sucks. The less said about it, the better. They stare at each other blankly a lot, and Joe keeps a six-pack to his left, which annoys Andy, and Pete doesn't know what he's supposed to do with his body because he doesn't want to go near Patrick in case that's _not okay now_ , and the whole thing just blows.

But that third song from Patrick's demo set almost clicks. It half-clicks. They actually smile at each other after that one.

Pete figures that's what Joe's thinking about when he emails them all again, a few days after everybody goes home, and says _What if we tried it in an actual studio, you know, the grown-up way?_

Andy and Patrick both say yes. This time Pete is the asshole who says he needs 24 hours to think about it. He can tell from the silence in response that nobody was expecting that. Whatever. He can have layers.

He spends 22.5 hours lying flat on his back, plus or minus twenty minutes for peeing and moving between the floor and his bed. Then he calls Gabe.

**

Gabe listens and makes agree-noises in all the right places while Pete talks. "So you're thinking about studio time," he sums up when Pete stops to breathe. "But you're not sure."

"Right. Right. I mean, what's going to keep it from all going to shit like it did last time? Everybody fighting and nothing being good enough and everyone resenting everyone else." Everyone resenting _him_ , he thinks, and probably Gabe is thinking it too, because they vibrate on the same cosmic level.

"You need a mediator."

"We totally need a mediator."

"I'd offer, but I'd suck at it."

"You so would." Pete chews on his thumbnail. "I'm thinking about calling Butch Walker."

Gabe's silent for a beat. "He's good."

"I know." He does know. Fall Out Boy's worked with him before, after all, but even if they hadn't, Pete would know that Butch was the guy behind _Forget What You Know_. Which is totally why Gabe is going awkward on him, but fuck. Butch can make killer fucking music happen.

He's not stupid enough to go directly to Midtown on this call. "He did a good job with Panic's stuff. And, you know. He did _Santi_."

Gabe actually laughs. "Ohh. I see where you're coming from."

"Right?" TAI is still a fucking ache in Pete's chest, but fact are facts. Forget the music: Butch was the guy who got TAI to pull together as a team, who balanced all those shouting voices against each other. If he could do that, he could handle four egos with ten years extra emotional maturity on them. Theoretical emotional maturity.

Maybe that's what they should call the album, if it lives.

Gabe clears his throat and draws Pete's attention back to the phone. "He got Bill and Mike and Butcher to play nice. He got me and Heath and Tyler to play nice. He's a good mediator. And he's steady, you know? He's just... steady, in the studio. The rock you can bounce off."

"You don't bounce off rocks. You go splat."

"I suck at fucking metaphors, okay?" Pete can almost hear Gabe rolling his eyes. "Call him. See if he's got some free time in his schedule coming up. The worst he can do is say no, right?"

"I need to ask the guys first. I can't make decisions unilaterally. It makes them mad."

"Pete..."

"Trust me, Gabe. I know I have to be different now."

Gabe's voice is soft. "Be different but don't be _scared_."

Pete nods. "Right. Yeah. They're like bees and dogs. They can smell fear."

"They're your friends, you fucking idiot." And that's normal Gabe again. "I love you. I have to go."

**

So. Back to the e-mail.

_I'm not trying to be difficult, but I think we need a strong producer in with us, somebody solid, who we all trust to mediate. I was thinking about maybe calling Butch Walker. Would that be okay with you guys?_

Patrick replies in a separate thread, just to him, with _Are you okay? That e-mail reads like you're standing on a ledge._

Maybe things aren't 100% different, after all.

**

Butch is everything Pete dreamed of and more. He's even better than the last time they worked with him. He listens to everybody, he's funny, he can make a decision without freaking out. And they all agreed they would abide by his decisions, first thing--he even made them _write it down and sign it_ , he's so smart--so when it happens, they all drop whatever they were fighting about and move on.

It's so relaxing. There's still tension in the air, but it's, like, creative tension. Not "someone here is going to die in a puddle of their own anxious sweat" tension. Maybe that's just Pete's interpretation, but it's such a relief, he doesn't even care.

He's standing outside with Andy one day, texting and feeling sun on their faces just for the novelty of it. "This doesn't suck," he says suddenly.

Andy glances up from his phone. "Okay?"

"I mean, I don't hate this."

"Me either."

"I think this might be actually _working_ , man."

Andy smiles at him and shakes his head. "That was the whole idea, wasn't it?"

"The idea and the reality very rarely line up, you know. Especially in my life."

"Don't do that," Andy says mildly, looking back to his phone, and Pete shuts up, because that's another agreement they all made at the start, that he wasn't allowed to make jokes about his brain. If he's feeling bad and needs support, he has to just ask for it. No jokes or hints. It's basically the meanest thing they could've come up with, but it's also healthy, or whatever. Therapist-approved.

"I really like working with Butch," he says after a minute. Andy nods and doesn't look up. "I mean. I think he's saved this whole idea. He's saved _us_."

"He's great. Dude understands about drums."

Whatever that means. "I'm thinking we should do something to thank him, you know?"

Andy looks up warily. "He is being paid a considerable amount of money."

"You know what I mean. Something more personal."

"Pete."

"Nothing weird!"

"Okay. As long as you mean that."

"I totally mean it. Yes. Nothing weird."

Andy puts his phone in his pocket and gives Pete a one-armed hug. "I'm going back inside."

"I'll be there in a minute. If Patrick's still pacing, you owe me a caffeinated beverage."

" He needs to go run some laps or something."

"Xanax."

"Fewer caffeinated beverages."

"You're still buying me one."

Andy rolls his eyes and goes inside, and Pete pulls his own phone out to text Meagan. _Hey you know that thing we talked about is that still ok_

There's a brief pause before her answer. _The thing with pee?_

_No the other thing_

Another pause. _Oh right that. Yeah go ahead._

_Ur the best love you_

She sends back a smiley face and he beams at his phone before he puts it away. He's so lucky. It will inevitably end in flames of disaster, but he's enjoying the not-on-fire phase so goddamn much this time around.

**

He bides his time all day, while they track guitar and then some drums and Patrick fidgets around like a fluffy little dog, the kind he assumed Meagan would want right up until she came home with Bear. There's probably a metaphor there for how everybody would assume she'd want someone like Gabe as a boyfriend until she picked up Pete instead, but he can't focus enough to sort it out right now. He's got plans on his mind. Logistics. The need to make Patrick, Joe, and Andy go away so he can go one-on-one with Butch. In private.

He ends up defaulting to a plan that relies on loud comments about Elisa's panties, which make Patrick blush, throw an empty coffee cup at him, and leave. Joe and Andy follow pretty soon, rolling their eyes at how ridiculous he is, but smiling. Pete can still pull off playing the fool for the greater good. He's so proud.

"Don't you have your own panties to do unspeakable things to?" Butch asks, typing something into his phone.

Pete straddles the other chair at the board and sends it into a slow spin. "We totally speak about them. Dirty talk Wednesdays at the Wentz house."

"I'll put that on my calendar."

"You should. I mean. We can hang out whenever you want, man."

Butch looks up over his glasses at him. "I can hear the wheels turning. I can smell the lubricants catching on fire. What's up, Pete?"

"That's what I like about this whole thing. Working with you. You're so smart, you can really read people. You notice stuff."

"I'm old," Butch says. "When you've been around as long as I have and worked with as many knuckleheads as I have, you start picking up on patterns."

"I can't wait." Pete spins his chair again, then stops it when he's looking right at Butch. "So here's the thing."

"You got to the point much faster than I was hoping for. Hooray."

Pete frowns at him. "Take this seriously. Come on."

"Okay. Okay." Butch puts his phone down and folds his hands in his lap. "Go."

Pete sits up straighter. "I want to thank you for doing this. For, like. For saving us."

"That's a little over the top."

"Oh my god, let me talk!" Pete scowls at him. "I'm trying to offer you sexual favors for being awesome and you're totally fucking it up."

Butch chokes and grabs at the edge of the board. "Whoa. Back up. What?"

"Not in a weird way!"

"What exactly is the not-weird way?" Butch puts his head down on his knees. "I might need a chart. Most of the time I'm pretty sure these conversations happen with the hot new baby band recording their first album and willing to do anything for attention, not the comeback middle-aged dads."

Pete frowns more. "Fuck you, I am not middle-aged."

"For Christ's sake, Pete." Butch sighs. "I am not going to make you blow me because recording is going well. You _hired_ me. I am getting _paid_. Sexual favors are unnecessary."

"I know that! I don't want you to _make_ me do it, I'm offering! I know it's not necessary, but I _want_ to." Pete wants to gesture and move around and throw things, but he is being mature, so he stays in the chair. "Because, like, I just owe you so much, for this. But not in the gross way. In the I want to say thank you way."

Butch rubs his forehead. "You want to give me an entirely altruistic, voluntary blowjob, because you're just that happy that recording is going well."

"Yes."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and assume your girlfriend is okay with this."

"Yeah. She's into it." Pete goes for his phone. "I can show you her texts."

"Not necessary," Butch says, holding up his hand. "Did it occur to you to wonder if my wife was into it?"

"Shit." Pete's shoulders slump. "I guess I'll buy you a car, then."

"Oh my god." Butch puts his head down again. "Look. As a matter of fact, we do have certain arrangements when it comes to recording."

"Oh! Great. Then there's no problem."

"I don't want to take advantage of you, Pete."

"You're not. Trust me. I really want to do this as an expression of gratitude. We don't have to tell the guys or anything."

Butch has an expression on his face that Pete is familiar with. It usually means someone is getting a Pete-induced headache. "You know, when I was working with your friend Saporta, he just wanted me to punch him every day."

Pete nods. "Yeah, he's into that."

"And you're into sucking cock."

Pete's trying for his best smile, but from the look on Butch's face, it's only half-working. "Only on special occasions, for great people."

"Which includes right now, and me."

"Yes." Pete rests his chin on the chair and stares at him. "So are we going to do this or not?"

Butch returns his gaze for a minute, then takes his glasses off and sets them on the board. "Yeah, what the hell."

**

It's actually been a while since Pete's had a special occasion with a great person in possession of a dick to be sucked. There are a few false starts before he gets it together and gives Butch the blowjob he deserves. And he sort of chokes and spits up at the end, which is embarrassing, but the studio chairs are made of easy-to-clean fabric. Some Febreze and drying in front of a fan overnight and everything will be fine.

He checks himself in the glass afterward and kind of enjoys the pouty-lipped look, enough to spend a few minutes making wolf faces and photoshoot faces at himself until Butch pats him on the head. "That's enough. It's late. Come on, Wentz."

Pete tags along behind him to the parking lot. "You want to go get some Taco Bell?"

"No. I want to go home to my family."

"Taco Bell doesn't take long."

Butch unlocks his car door. "Goodbye, Pete."

"Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow." Taco Bell's no fun alone. He takes the long way home instead, letting his head empty itself out so he won't paw at Meagan like an annoying puppy. He's figured some of this stuff out all on his own.

After they have dinner and watch some TV that he doesn't really pay attention to because she lets him rest his head on her boobs, she goes to bed and he lies on the couch with his tablet, checking his usual round of websites.

Eventually it takes him back to his e-mail, and he sits there for a minute, looking at their ongoing band thread that's devolved mostly into what time they'll be showing up at the studio the next day and what they should get for lunch vs. what they _would_ get for lunch if pissy vegans would quit getting in the way.

He opens it up and hits reply-all. _Can't wait to see you guys tomorrow. I feel like good things are going on. :) xo Pete_

_PS there's jizz somewhere in the control room, good luck figuring out where!_


End file.
